Homecomings
by TigerDriver
Summary: A few months after the Battle of Xandar and defeat of Ronan, the Guardians are settling down in their new lives and learning to live with each other. An easy cargo run in the Milano takes a bad turn, leaving Rocket and Gamora to face the ghosts of their pasts in order to survive. Peter and Drax try to keep the team alive and together. (This is a multi-chapter, adventure teamfic.)
1. Chapter 1 - First Watch

**First Watch**

There's no time in space. None.

The cosmos has been there since long before you, and will be there long after you're gone. Drifting amongst the stars, between destinations, has a timeless, ethereal feel. As poetic as that sounds, there is too much to do on a starship to spend all of your time contemplating the languid flux of the universe. Ground-pounders are the only ones who really get worked up about being in space. Those who live out there have a jaded view of interstellar travel, being more concerned with minutiae such as whether there's enough fuel to do that side trip for an extra 35,000 units or how late to that rendezvous we're going to be after doing that side trip or who is going to die because they didn't clean up the galley again.

Turns out that you do have to keep track of time after all, in space, just to be sure everything gets done and you stay on schedule. _Milano_ kept Xandar time out of convenience, fitting shipboard life into that thirty-one-Terran-hour day. "Day" and "night" only mattered to her crew when they were docked or on the ground, and even then a lot of their activities occurred during the "night" when the locals were asleep or otherwise occupied. Night work gave them a welcome anonymity, too, since word had spread fast of their defeat of Ronan.

The dust had settled, finally, from that escapade, yet they couldn't escape their fame, or, more correctly, notoriety. It was a benefit sometimes, getting them extra space at a bar or a little deference in some negotiation. Otherwise, it was a liability, given that a certain class of galactic inhabitants wanted to have a go at the Guardians of the Galaxy just to see what they were made of. And there was a fairly long list of beings who had pre-fame scores to settle with individual members of the group. Life promised to be exciting for some time.

At the moment it was quiet, as _Milano_ was in transit between the Hub and the buyer for a certain pallet of no-questions cargo. Cargo runs were easy and lucrative, and this one gave them something to do for a few days before they were scheduled to return to Xandar for a contract job for the Nova Corps.

_Milano_ wasn't a big ship by any means, so the long times between ports were spent trying to stay off of each other's nerves. There were four watches: Gamora was first, followed by Quill, Drax and Rocket on the overnight. Being on watch entailed sitting on the flight deck, watching the autonav system and checking the screens to make sure no one was trying to sneak up on them. Groot was still in his pot, although he had grown to 125 microbules, or about eighteen inches. He'd be able to leave the soil for good in a few more weeks; until then, Rocket dutifully carried his pot around the ship.

They developed some shipboard routines. Quill concerned himself with setting up whatever mission they took on, and fancied himself as a master planner. Drax and Gamora began trading martial arts moves and conditioning notes, occasionally sparring in the cramped mid-deck cabin. They were surprisingly evenly matched: Drax was faster than he looked, and Gamora was stronger than she looked. Rocket fell into the role of fix-it man because he liked it and was good at it. "Fixing" included taking care of _Milano _as well as Quill's current plan. Rocket had no problem pointing out real or perceived problems to Quill. Peter would argue with Rocket, but, in the end, quietly made modifications. Rocket often made minor repairs and adjustments to the ship without telling anyone. He was pretty sure Gamora knew when he did that, Quill not so much, and Drax was oblivious. Still, there was a fine line he had to walk. Quill didn't always like Rocket working on his ship unannounced, so Rocket had learned to get all his ducks in a row before approaching the captain about a major fix. It took extra time, which was annoying, but avoided an argument, which was worth the trouble in the cramped quarters. The team devised some unwritten house rules, too, for peace and civility, such as "don't wake anyone up when your watch is done" and "keep the _kaveh_ pot full".

Speaking of _kaveh_, Rocket drained the last of a pot into his cup. Gamora had just relieved him from the night watch, and he wanted to have a cuppa before getting some sleep. He set about booting up the galley for the next round. The galley system lit up, then emitted a series of odd chirps and went dark.

"Ya _gotta_ be frickin' kidding me," Rocket said to the dead panels. "Can't get a break this morning." He opened a compartment and pulled out his tool kit.

"I am Groot," chirped the sapling. (Bummer, dude.)

"I know the Novas tried to put her back together right, but every day there's somethin' else that needs rejiggered." Groot stretched and yawned.

Rocket pulled the bottom panel off of the galley station, stuck a probe in his mouth and pulled himself into the guts of the machine. Drax emerged from his compartment, took in the empty _kaveh_ urn and the two gray legs sticking out of the galley panel. He heard distracted humming drifting out of the machine and knew that Rocket was deep in his happy place. Music filled the ship, and Quill strolled into the common area to the strains of "Cherrybomb." Drax noticed Rocket's foot tapping; it was his favorite song. Quill noticed him, too.

"Ranger Rick, what're you doing?"

"Fixin' your ship again. An' don't call me that."

"C'mon, man, I asked you before not to mess with things unless you tell me."

Rocket pulled himself out from the machine.

"Yer kiddin' me. You really expect me to wake you up to tell you the _kaveh_ machine took a shit? Hey, blue, hit me with that spanner and the electrical thingie with the two wires."

"No, I'm not kidding. You're always messing with things and I have no idea what works and what doesn't."

Drax rooted around in the kit and handed the tools to Rocket, who set them on his chest. He targeted Quill with an intense glare.

"First of all, when I fix it, it stays fixed, so relax. Secondly, I only fix things that're busted. Or suck bad enough to need work."

"Look, I know that maybe there's a few things that are wonky, but I don't think it helps to have you messing around with her all the time."

"Quill, yer only provin' my point. Since ya couldn't go out and get a new Shark-class ship, we gotta keep this one together. So lemme get back to it and keep her together." Rocket snorted in exasperation and pulled himself back under the galley.

"How do you even know how to fix this thing?"

"Because I was paying attention when I took it apart, dammit!" Rocket's patience was exhausted, and his voice rose a notch. "Look, why'n't you just go listen to one of your two tapes an' leave me alone so I can fix this thing and make. Some. Frickin'. _Kaveh_!" The last three words were punctuated with bangs from inside the galley.

"What'd you say?"

"You heard me. An' since you're the _captain_ of this heap, why don't you take a little time an' learn somethin' about her instead of leaving it to me? Now if ya want _kaveh_ and food today, buzz off and lemme work." A panel popped off the front of the galley, and a small black hand emerged, giving Quill the finger. The hand disappeared, and Rocket resumed humming and working.

Drax couldn't contain himself any longer, and exploded with laughter.

"The small one has _spirit_!" he finally gasped out.

Quill was seething as Rocket gutted his authority. Gamora's voice drifted down from the flight deck.

"Don't start anything down there," she said.

"Yes, _mom_," Quill snapped at the gangway. "Rocket, I'm serious, get your ass out of there right now or I'll drag you out."

The sounds of tinkering and humming stopped. The hand reappeared from inside the machine, index finger pointed right at Quill. The voice behind it was ice cold.

"You fucking touch me, Star Baby, and it'll be the next to last fucking thing you ever do." The work noises resumed inside the panel.

Drax looked at Quill. Gamora started down the gangway, stopped halfway. There was an uneasy silence.

"I am Groot." (Too far, say sorry.)

"Screw this," Quill said, and he reached down, grabbed Rocket's tail and yanked.

"Ahhh nooo!" There was a loud clank and a shower of sparks erupted inside the galley. Rocket exploded out the panel with a howl, ears flat, teeth bared, and launched himself at Quill's face. Everyone started yelling at once, and Groot emitted a high-pitched shriek.

Drax caught Rocket in mid-air by the collar of his jumpsuit and flipped him face down onto the galley table. Rocket was all teeth and claws, kicking everything off the table and onto the floor, trying to get away from Drax.

"Fucker! Ya got my _tail_!"

"Be still!" he rumbled, as Rocket continued to fight. Drax had his hands full with the strong, wiry body. Gamora jumped down the stairs to help Drax try to contain Rocket. Rocket forced himself up off of the table, but Drax wrapped him up in a tight bear hug. His claws were useless against Drax's tough skin.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" shouted Quill, backing up against the viewscreen. "That's it, Fuzzy Wuzzy! You are off my ship next port! I'm over you and your bullshit!"

Gamora caught Rocket's face with both hands, barely avoiding his teeth. He whipped his head from side to side, trying to break her hold.

"Rocket," she said softly. "Rocket. Stop." He shook his head once more and met her gaze, panting. Something clicked between them. He stopped fighting, going limp in Drax's arms. He had a cut beside his right eye, and the blood was beginning to mat the fur on his face.

"Peter," she said, "go upstairs."

"What? You're taking his side? You gotta…"

"Go upstairs. Now." She poured every bit of negative assassin voltage she had into her voice.

Quill thought about arguing for a moment, then knocked the _kaveh_ urn off of the galley machine and stomped up the ladder. He slammed the floor plate down over the gangway, then jumped on it for good measure.

"Drax, let him go."

"I do not think that is wise. He is very fast and has teeth."

"Put me down. I'm through wit' you jerks." Rocket's voice was full of wounded pride, and a deeper hurt. Drax stood Rocket on the table. He made a show of brushing off his jumpsuit and straightening it.

"Dammit, hit my head on the way out." He gingerly felt the cut by his eye, wincing. Looked at the blood on his fingers, went to lick it off, stopped. He looked Gamora and Drax, started to say something, thought better of it. He jumped down, picked up the _kaveh_ urn, and jammed it in the galley. He side-kicked the machine and it came to life, gurgled and began its brew cycle.

"Asshole," he said, looking at the machine and then the gangway to the flight deck. He picked up Groot's pot, whipped his tail around his body and stalked down the ladder to the cargo hold. Drax and Gamora watched him go, and were left to stare at each other while Peter slammed something up on the flight deck.


	2. Chapter 2 - Swing Shift

**Swing Shift**

"We have a problem," Gamora said heavily.

"I agree." Drax said. "The furred one must be sure his claws are not as sharp as they are now. It is dangerous."

Gamora rolled her eyes.

"No, we need to make peace between Peter and Rocket. We must keep this team together," she said, poking her finger onto the table for emphasis.

"We must let them _fight_. The _victor_ can dictate terms." Drax smiled at the thought of combat.

"Not now. We have the cargo drop coming up. There are unanswered questions about this mission, and we need to work together. Go talk to Rocket. You were able to reach him after Groot died."

"Me? I do not know what to say. And the tree lives."

"Yes, you. Rocket has important skills that we need for our success, in spite of the fact that he can be difficult. He is more vital than Quill is willing to admit openly. You must persuade Rocket to work on the team. I will work on Peter."

"How will I do this?"

"You can start by talking to him."

"Words are not my strength," Drax said, but he turned and disappeared down the ladder to the cargo hold nonetheless.

Gamora watched him go, then climbed the gangway to the flight deck. Quietly, she slid the deck plate out of her way.

* * *

><p>The cargo hold was low-ceilinged, and Drax had to bend over to fit. He found Rocket sitting on the cargo pallet across from Groot, holding a bloody cloth to his head. Rocket and Groot appeared to be having a conversation, but Drax couldn't be sure. Rocket took a swig from a flask with his free hand, and looked over at Drax.<p>

"Drax the Intruder. Scram!"

"We must talk."

"No we musn't."

"I am not leaving until we resolve your issues with Quill."

"Well, then, we're gonna be here awhile. Drink?" Rocket tossed him the flask.

Drax snatched it out of the air, shrugged, had a sip. He grimaced.

"This is the fluid that goes inside batteries." He closed the flask and set it down out of Rocket's reach. "I must speak with you while you are clear-headed." Rocket started to protest, realized the futility of that, and checked the cloth instead. The bleeding had stopped. He picked up a bottle of water sitting next to Groot, poured some of it on the cloth, began cleaning the blood off his face. Drax moved across from Rocket and sat on the floor next to Groot, nearly filling the space from floor to ceiling. Rocket continued cleaning his face, looking at Drax in between strokes.

"You're not leaving, are you?"

"No. We must discuss your actions. They are not beneficial to your friends. We are a team, and we need you."

"I am Groot." (Told you so.)

"Fine," Rocket said, resigned. "Speak your piece then leave me alone."

Drax was going to say something about speaking _words_, not _pieces_, but let it go.

"You have important skills, many of which I do not understand, yet they are vital to our success."

"Right, and you all value them _so_ much that…"

Drax cut him off.

"I know your anger is very powerful."

"My _anger_?" Rocket said, incredulous. "You don't know a frickin' thing about _me_ and my _anger._"

"Perhaps not. I can only speak of what I see in your actions, and your anger consumes your very essence. I understand this. I held my anger about the death of my wife and daughter very close to my heart, and that blinded me for years. My resulting bad judgment nearly caused our deaths at Knowhere. I was only able to overcome that anger because of you, and Quill, and Gamora, and this tree. You believed in me, and you are my friends."

"Look, that's great, but you got _no_ idea what my life was like," Rocket said, looking away in dismissal.

Drax waited until Rocket turned back to face him, and leaned forward until their noses almost touched. Rocket recoiled at this invasion of his personal space. Drax gave no ground, keeping close to Rocket.

"'Boo hoo hoo.'"

"_What?_"

"Yes. 'Boo hoo hoo, my life was hard, and now I can treat people who care about me with disrespect and derision,'" Drax said, in a good approximation of Rocket's voice. Rocket sat up straight, the hairs on his neck rising as his lips peeled back in a snarl. The wet cloth fell on the floor, forgotten.

"Who the fuck do you think you are to come down here and say that shit to me?" he snapped.

"I am your friend, Rocket, and if I were not, I would have removed your ears and eaten them because you attacked my friend Quill."

"I am Groot." (What he said.)

"But he grabbed…" Drax waved his hand for silence.

"I will finish. Peter Quill is a good man, and he deserves your respect. He needs you, but he is too proud to admit it. You know more about this ship than he does, and you complete his plans when he cannot fill the gaps. Yet you must control your anger, be patient, and accept your friends in the same way that they accept you."

Rocket looked at the big man. Drax wasn't the most articulate individual in the galaxy, but he'd cut right to the heart of the matter. Rocket had long believed that he and Groot were the only team that mattered, that no one else would accept them, or that they'd get double-crossed in the end. Being a perpetual hard-ass helped, in that people respected his marksmanship and apparent unpredictability if nothing else. But that respect was hollow, being based only on fear. This whole team thing was still unexpected and unexplored, but he felt better about it hearing that he was, indeed, valued.

"You make it sound easy, like, 'oooo…just let go of your anger'. Buddy, it ain't like that."

"I did not say anything about it being easy."

"I am Groot," added Groot with a smug expression. (Listen to the blue guy and stop being a jerk.)

Rocket took a breath, collecting his thoughts. He realized that he'd have to do some sharing, even though he was loathe to open up to anyone. He picked up the cloth he had been using, folded it neatly and set it beside him, playing for time. Finally, he met Drax's gaze again.

"Look, I hear what you're saying. Y'know, most things in the universe don't want to hear it from someone like me, for whatever reason. I been fightin' that forever, an' it's hard to let that go. I mean, you and me didn't exactly hit it off at the start, right?" He sighed, looking at the floor. "But I'll cut Quill some slack, if he'll do the same for me and not strand me in some backwater."

"I am gratified to hear your words."

"Sure. An' listen, just don't, y'know, grab me unexpected like, okay? Seriously."

Drax nodded, struggled to his feet in the low space. Bent over, he moved back to the ladder. He picked up Rocket's flask.

"I'm taking this liquid. It will be good for cleaning my blades." He climbed up to the mid-deck, leaving Rocket and Groot alone with the cargo.

* * *

><p>Gamora slid the deck plate aside at the top of the ladder. Quill was sprawled across the left seat, legs over the armrest. He was bouncing a ball against the right side of the flight deck, catching it, throwing it back again. She climbed up the ladder and snatched the fuzzy yellow ball out of the air on the next pass. Peter finally acknowledged her presence.<p>

"You, too? Great."

"Peter, you need to be reasonable."

"Be reasonable? Really? Like, 'hey, guys, it's all good if you wanna take ship apart without asking'? Or maybe, 'it's cool if you want to try and take my face off'? Right."

"No, be reasonable like trusting Rocket to take care of your ship. I've kept track of his work on the _Milano_. He's very good. And he's right, you'd see that if you paid more attention to what he was doing. He's doesn't bother you with the small things because he knows you're busy with other responsibilities."

"I dunno, G, he just…"

"He just _what_, Peter?"

"He just…has…really...small hands," Quill said sheepishly.

"Peter Quill! What is your problem with Rocket? That he knows more about your ship than you do? That he's good at tactical planning? That he looks like a Terran…?"

"Raccoon."

"Whatever. You need to consider his abilities. He has brought a lot of experience to this crew. He was willing to die in the fight against Ronan, as a part of _your_ plan."

"I dunno, it feels like he's showing me up with all this fix-it crap."

"He is trying to take care of the ship," she said, settling into the right seat. "He gets impatient when you ignore him or don't listen to him."

"Yeah, well, he gets pissed off pretty quick, too. He's got this whole Rambo Full Metal Jacket Platoon thing going on, like the weirdest things set him off."

She shook her head, brushing off his odd Terran references.

"You did grab him after all. If you did that to me and I wasn't expecting it, you would no longer be able to count to ten using your fingers."

"Very funny. I kinda lost my patience with him was all."

Gamora shook her head.

"Peter, you don't have that luxury anymore. You're a leader now, not a Ravager."

"Well, what about his past? Anyway we can straighten that out? Fix him?"

"There are things from his past that he doesn't speak about that affect his temperament. I respect him enough as an individual not to press him if he's not ready to discuss it with us." She glanced away for a moment, then looked back at Quill. "If his past is anything like what I endured with Thanos, then it's a wonder he's civil at all."

"Look, that's all well and good, he's got the dark and mysterious past and all, but what do you expect me to do? I mean, I said he was out, how'm I gonna go back on that?"

"You'll have to compromise. Find some common ground. Didn't you ever negotiate in your previous career?"

"No, we took whatever we wanted. You know, like _Ravagers_?" he said, making quote signs with his fingers. "How much did _you_ negotiate when you were on Team Thanos?"

"I didn't. I killed," she said with a meaningful glare. "We all have to learn new skills now, don't we, if we're going to stay together?"

"I just don't think…"

"Stop." Gamora cut him off. "Swallow some of your pride and find a way to work with Rocket. That's all you have to do. It's simple."

"Hell. What am I supposed to say to him?"

"I'm not solving your problems for you. I've offered my counsel. You're the leader of this team, so deal with it. Maybe you can start with something easy to talk about, like the weather on Xandar."

"The _weather_?"

Gamora stood and fixed Quill with a coy smile.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out, Star Lord. You have _such_ a gift of gab." She started down the ladder.

"Can I at least have my ball back?"

"Of course," she said, whipping the ball back over her shoulder. It bounced off the windscreen and hit Quill in the side of the head, and he fell out of the pilot's chair trying to catch it. Gamora chuckled as she disappeared into the mid-deck.

* * *

><p>Rocket emerged from the cargo hold after a few hours. Gamora was sitting with Drax while he devoured his lunch before going up to watch the ship. Rocket nodded at him, and Drax grunted in return.<p>

"Ears?" Rocket asked.

"No. That is a delicacy reserved for battle feasts," Drax replied, straight-faced. Rocket was reasonably certain that Drax wasn't joking. He set Groot's pot on the table, and the sapling waved at Drax and Gamora. Rocket pulled a crate out of a storage compartment, opened it and began removing small cylinders with green lights on the ends. He lined them up on the table.

"Gotta check these things, make sure they're still good."

"I am Groot." (Drama queen, could've done that downstairs.)

Drax nodded as Quill came down from the flight deck. The tension in the common area went up a few clicks. Gamora and Drax stood at the same time, mumbled a few words of greeting to Quill and beat a retreat up the stairs to the flight deck.

"Subtle," Quill said to the climbing feet. "That's real...subtle."

Rocket watched Quill go to the galley and poke around. He began dissembling the first cylinder without looking at it, lining the parts up on the table. Quill turned around finally, looking at Rocket and the parts on the table. He couldn't avoid Rocket any longer.

"So, uh, I bet it's really warm in Nova City today," Quill began.

"What? Who cares, we won't be there again for another eight days." Rocket said. He noticed Quill looking at his display of parts on the table. "Don't worry, these're mine, not yours."

"Yeah, sure. Sooo…what are they?"

"Thermal detonators," Rocket said as he reassembled the first cylinder and moved on to the next one. "Don't worry, they won't go off."

"Uh, okay. Gotta ask, why are you taking them apart here on the dinner table?"

Rocket considered making a sharp retort, but remembered Drax's words. He paused for a moment, thinking of something to say. A solid technical answer seemed the safest course of action.

"Coz these things work by burnin' two different metal powders, and I gotta check 'em to be sure that the metals are still good an' the igniter'll work when ya need it to. It's safed when the green light on top is on. Use 'em to burn holes in things. Big holes."

"Like what?"

"You name it. Ships, buildings, anythin' really. They get nice an' hot," Rocket said with a toothy grin.

"So, you got other things that go boom on board?"

"Well, yeah, where d'ya think all our supplies come from?"

There was an uneasy silence. Rocket continued watching Quill and working on the detonators. Quill looked at the floor, the wall, anywhere but at Rocket. Rocket decided to wait him out, get the lay of the land. Finally, Quill met his gaze.

"Listen, man, about this morning…"

"Yeah, what about it?" Rocket stopped, holding a part in each hand, still staring at Quill.

"I've thought about it all day, and I want you to stay on the crew. We got a good team here, and I don't want to lose anyone. I feel responsible for all of you guys."

Rocket was secretly thrilled to hear this, but he felt the need to keep up appearances and not roll over right away. He carefully placed the detonator parts on the table and crossed his arms.

"Really."

"Yes, really. We gotta stick together now. It's not always gonna be easy all the time, since we're all a bunch of loners at heart, but there it is."

"Yeah, I get your point." Rocket uncrossed his arms, picked up a detonator part, turned it over and over in his hands.

"But I'm not kidding when I say I want you to tell me when you do some major fix on my ship, like on the engines or controls, alright? I'll trust you on the small stuff, y'know, like the galley. And weaponry."

"Fine. I'll tell you about big stuff. But I got one condition."

"Don't push your luck."

"This is easy. Don't ever grab my tail again. Ever. I got issues about that, no lie. Serious. Issues."

"OK, Francis, I won't grab your tail."

"Francis? Who the hell is Francis?"

"Never mind. It's a deal. And I shouldn't have done that this morning. My bad."

"I am Groot." (See?)

"Fine."

"And I want you to think about this cargo drop comin' up. It's got a weird vibe to it, and I don't wanna get caught with our asses hangin' out."

"Sure. Anything else?"

"Nope."

"Great."

"You always have to get the last word in?" Quill asked, heading towards the ladder.

Rocket gave him his best squinty-eyed badass look.

"Yep."

"I thought so," Quill said, halfway up to the flight deck.

Rocket waited for him to disappear.

"Always," he said quietly to Groot, and went back to work on the detonators.

"I am Groot." (Smart ass.)


	3. Chapter 3 - Night Shift

**Night Shift**

Rocket liked the late watch. It was quiet, and he had time to think, or go over some bit of the current plan, or work on the _Milano_, or just watch the stars. Besides, he liked sleeping during the day. Groot rested in his pot each night, occasionally waking up to see what Rocket was doing. Gamora would relieve Rocket early in the morning. Neither of them talked very much at the watch change, keeping conversation to the business of running the ship. The time it took to make the shift changeover grew steadily longer as a silent camaraderie emerged between Rocket and Gamora: no words, but content with each other's presence. He secretly valued her company on the night shift, but couldn't find a way to express his feelings. It wasn't anything romantic, but rather a feeling driven by a strange attractor born of damaged spirits.

The ship was flying through a nebula, and the soft glow from the gas cloud bathed the flight deck with an odd glow, the purple light blending with the oranges and yellows of the flight displays. Rocket had a lot more than usual on his mind tonight. He wasn't sure how long the truce with Peter would last, whether he could really fit into the team, and how he would deal with the flood of memories that boiled up this morning during the fight. Rocket wasn't one for soul-searching introspection. Being a bold man-of-action, as he saw it, he lived in the present and future, leaving things in the past behind him. There was no point in revisiting what had already happened; he learned and adapted and moved on. Certainly, there was no reason to revisit the time when he was…what? Growing up? No, being constructed.

The easiest way to put such thoughts at bay was to bury himself in work, which was part of the reason he was always tinkering with some project on the _Milano._ He also had an innate drive to use his hands, to make things, so he looked at it as killing two _orionii _with one stone. Tonight, Rocket was running through a diagnostic of the _Milano_'s flap engines. He was pretty sure that number five on the right wing needed some attention. All of the screens around the right pilot seat were lit up with engine parameters, software traces, and flight dynamics monitors. He looked over his shoulder at the gangway, just to be sure no one, especially Quill, was stirring down below.

Rocket grabbed the control stick and coaxed the _Milano_ into a slow barrel roll to the left and then back to the right. Yep, he thought, there it is. Ol' number five is only giving 83 percent. Magnetic harmonizer needs some work, refine those fuel flows. Need to fix that before we really need the ship to dance. He poked the diagnostic screen, recording the last maneuver. I'll have to work on this next time we land. Oh, and tell Quill about it, too.

"Back at the ship so soon? I believed you would at least wait until we made landfall." Gamora's head was just peaking over the edge of the deck, her eyes tracking all of the screens lit up with _Milano_'s vitals. She padded up the rest of the steps on the gangway.

"Jeez, ya always gotta frickin' sneak up on me. What is it with you? An' I didn't fix anything, just lookin' around." He scratched the side of his muzzle, stared intently at his fingers for moment, then glanced over at her. They'd developed a game of seeing who was better at being stealthy each night, pitting the assassin's reflexes against Rocket's amplified senses. This was safer than the time that Rocket had hid in the overhead pipes and dropped on Gamora's shoulder as she came up the stairs. He was flat on his back on the deck with a blade at his throat before he knew what had happened. They talked less than usual that night.

"Good evening to you, too," she said, smiling. "How's your head?"

"Fine." He thought she was referring to more than the cut by his eye, but decided not to pursue it.

"I'm gratified that you worked out your differences with Peter."

"Yeah, we'll make it back to Xandar without killin' each other, I think."

"That's good to hear. I know Quill can be difficult, but his heart is in the right place. Most of the time."

Rocket gave a noncommittal grunt. He reached out and typed something into the engine screens, rearranging the data.

"He's gotta take better care of this boat, 'specially since our lives depend on her. She's good, but she needs attention, this fine piece of interstellar hardware. And cleaned, fer cryin' out loud." Rocket waved his hand in the direction of a pile of Quill's detritus in the back corner of the flight deck.

"What's the issue here?" she asked, leaning over to look at the diagnostic displays.

"Number five flap engine needs tweaked. Messes up the roll rates and braking. Easy fix, just gotta get the fuel flows and magnetics dialed in, next time we stop."

Gamora nodded, looking at the readouts. She sat in the other pilot seat, got comfortable. Rocket sighed, clicking off the extra screens, leaving only the flight instruments. He stared out at the nebula for a moment, then stretched in his chair. Gamora thought that she could hear little clinks and pops emanating from his skeleton. He settled his tail across his chest, and she saw the line of his mouth draw tighter.

"What? Got somethin' ya wanna say?" he asked.

"No." She looked out at the nebula, at the stars illuminating the gas in reds and blues. "It's very beautiful."

"I dunno what ya mean by that. But it's more relaxing to look at that than any of this stuff sometimes," he said, waving his hand at the flight instruments.

"Rocket?"

"What?"

"You are still upset from this morning?"

He paused, realizing that Gamora was actually concerned for him, that her question was more than chit-chat. He was trying to get his head around this whole team thing, looking out for everyone and being looked out for in return.

"Nope."

Gamora glanced over at Rocket. He was staring intently out the side window.

"Do you expect me to believe that?"

Maybe this unspoken kinship thing with Gamora had something to do with her being the other heavily modified member of the crew. He'd never considered that until now. There was a long silence. Gamora was patient, waiting for Rocket to find the words that eluded him. He sighed.

"When I was being built an' they'd come for me, to make another change, I'd fight 'em. I knew what was comin'. So they'd grab me by my neck an' tail an' legs an' stretch me right out like this," he said, pulling his arms wide. He turned towards her, but was looking at a memory just above her head. His ears were turned back, eyes narrowed and watery.

"I was totally…y'know…I couldn't…do anything. So when Quill grabbed me this morning, it was…it was like…like I was there again, for a sec, back in…" His voice trailed off, and he looked away again. He drew in a ragged breath, held it, let it out slowly. His normal façade clicked back into place. Gamora noticed that Groot was awake in his pot, watching them.

"I know it sounds stupid, but that's the facts, Jack. Happy now?"

This was more than he'd ever revealed to her, and she felt guilty for not realizing the source, or the depth, of his inner turmoil until now. She thought of his irritability as a defense against his size, or appearance, not as a result of the torment he suffered at the hands of his creators. She was intimately aware of what that felt like, being modified against her will and turned into a killer by a sociopath. She realized her connection with Rocket was much deeper than the idle banter they exchanged all the time.

"No, it's not stupid."

Rocket shrugged. He seemed embarrassed at having shown her something of his secret world, and was eager to change the subject.

"Well, anyway, the ship's doin' fine, we'll be there in 14 hours. Don't tell Quill about number five, I gotta figure out a plan to fix it first." He reached out and stabbed at the main panel, dimming the cockpit lights to near darkness. He leaned back, watched the nebula slide by for a minute.

"If I hadda pick something that was 'beautiful', I guess that'd be it." 

Gamora nodded, giving him some silence. Finally, Rocket stirred, breaking their reverie. He pushed the control panel out of the way and climbed out of the chair. He picked up Groot's pot and paused, looking at her with a carefully composed, neutral expression.

"You remember?" he asked.

"Yes," she said simply. "I do."

He nodded. He turned toward the gangway and started down the ladder. His tail gently brushed Gamora's arm as he passed. She was surprised, knowing that it was deliberate, and was as close as he could get to saying "thank you". She listened as he climbed down the gangway with the heavy pot. She heard Groot's faint squeak drift up from the mid-deck.

"I am _Groot_." (Aww, you like her.)

"Shaddap, it's not like that."

She turned, looking back at the empty ladder, then settled back in to watch the _Milano_ and the nebula. She wasn't certain what was going on between her and Rocket, but was content to let it play out on his terms. She called up the engine displays, trying to see the subtleties that Rocket saw there. The patterns eluded her, and she shook her head in admiration at her small friend's abilities.

**Author's note: This is actually the first part of "Homecomings" that I wrote out. It started with Rocket flying alone at night, then Gamora came up and smacked me in the head for not telling her part of the story. So it goes, and here we are. There are some references to "Made Man" that will turn up from time to time in this story, too.**

**Flying at night, over the northern expanses of the US, you can occasionally see the aurora borealis. Turning down the cockpit lights makes it seem like you're floating above the world, surrounded by the shifting curtains of light. It is (literally) awesome. So, that's where the setting for this scene came from, if you're interested. Hang on, because things are going to start breaking loose for our heroes in the next chapter.**

**Comments and reviews are welcome and appreciated. Thanks for reading!**

**And, since I didn't mention it in the first two chapters: I don't own the characters, nor am I making any money off of this story. But it is fun to sit around the table with them, tell some stories, and have a cuppa **_**kaveh**_**.**


	4. Chapter 4 - Dirty Deeds

**Dirty Deeds**

"_That's_ your plan?" Rocket asked, arms crossed, sitting in the right pilot seat on the flight deck. Quill was across from him in the left seat, Gamora standing next to Quill, and Drax watched from the rear seat. The _Milano_'s approach to Hell's Shadow was projected on the canopy. It was an abandoned planet, generally considered neutral territory, used by various factions and organizations to exchange everything from goods to money to hostages. You could have a face-to-face meeting, or leave your booty at a prearranged dead-drop location where your payment was waiting. Scores were settled there, too, although that was viewed as interfering with business and thus frowned upon. Quill had received a message with the final instructions for the drop just before calling the team meeting.

"Yes, that's the plan," Peter responded, an edge of exasperation creeping into his voice. He longed for one of these meetings to not end in a frank discussion of plan minutiae with Rocket. The session wasn't going as well as he'd hoped, but at least it hadn't degenerated into an all-out argument yet. "What's wrong with it?"

"We're going to the remotest part of a remote planet, for a client we know nothing about, to drop off a cargo we know nothing about, to a buyer we know nothing about," Rocket said, ticking off the points on one hand. "And to top it off, 'they' specifically asked for you two to make the drop," he added, leaning forward and pointing at Quill and Gamora with two fingers. "What could _possibly_ smell bad about this deal?"

"Why are you always so negative?"

"Because it's the same frickin' set-up I'd use if I were tryin' to take you down! Everybody knows this place isn't safe. Why d'ya think they call it Hell's Shadow? Coz the _weather's_ nice?"

"Well, little buddy, you won't have to worry about it, will you, because you're gonna be fixing that engine thing while we make the drop."

"Shit," Rocket said, shaking his head. "Shoulda kept my mouth shut." He'd made his case to Quill about number five earlier in the day, and Peter had agreed to the repair when they made the stop. He now regretted speaking up about the ship, since this whole job was starting to smell like something from the deep ocean that had sat out in the sun too long.

"I am Groot," said Groot from his pot, next to Drax. (You're so paranoid.)

"I'm not paranoid just because everyone's out to get us," Rocket snapped at the tree.

"Look, you said it would take twenty minutes tops to go out on the wing and reset the magnetic…" Quill paused, snapping his fingers as he tried to remember the name of the part.

"Harmonizer," Rocket said, under his breath.

"…gadget and have everything all dialed in by the time we get back."

"Oh, it'll be fixed, no fear. You just make it back so you can enjoy the fruits of my labor."

"Count on it. Okay, 40 minutes til we get there. Deorbit procedure starts in 20 minutes. Drax, you're our back-up while me and Gamora make the drop. Rocket, you fix what needs fixed and be ready to go. That's it."

Rocket opened his mouth to add something, then shook his head, hopped down from the chair and headed down the ladder to the mid-deck. He couldn't shake the bad feeling about the drop, which was strange for him in that he always took a full-speed-ahead approach to things like this. The other three stayed on the flight deck; he could hear them hashing out some final details. An idea hit him on the way down the ladder. He rooted around in the junk on the galley table and found Quill's mapping scanner. He shot a look back upstairs, then jumped down the ladder to the cargo hold.

Gamora watched Rocket drop down into the mid-deck, then grab a piece of gear off of the table and disappear below deck. He usually gave Quill a degree of grief over any particular plan, both to keep up appearances and make sure Peter hadn't forgotten some vital detail. This time, though, Rocket had been on edge all day, like some instinct was screaming at him to be cautious. She touched Peter gently on the arm, interrupting his conversation with Drax.

"I'll be downstairs. There are few things I want to verify before our arrival."

"Sure, fine, I'm not worried about you," Quill said, not really paying attention to her.

She nodded at the pair and made her way down the ladder.

* * *

><p>Rocket figured he had five, maybe ten minutes before Peter came looking for him to start flying the approach to Hell's Shadow. He knelt down at the far end of the cargo pallet, keeping the ladder to the mid-deck in sight. He pried open the scanner, pulled out a wire bundle, and started clipping leads from another piece of gear onto the scanner's wires. He hit the power stud on the scanner, and the blue imaging field appeared. He aimed it at the cargo container, and the interior structure for about a foot inside the can came into view. He started working his way around the cargo can, trying to get a good series of images of what was inside. It looked empty. He heard a clank on the ladder, knew without looking that it was Gamora. She was being courteous, letting him know she was there.<p>

"It's a 'no questions asked' cargo," she said in a level tone.

"Since when's that stopped any good merc?" he replied.

She smiled, moving off the ladder and over to where he was working. She sat on the floor by the pallet, crosslegged, blocking his progress along the can. He sighed and faced her. They were suddenly close, eye to eye.

"You mind?" he said. "Workin' here."

"What have you found?" Rocket heard the warning in her tone. He shut off the scanner, looking at her, trying to decide whose side she was on right now. He crossed his arms, cradling the scanner.

"Nothin'. There's nothin' in it."

"Nothing dangerous."

"No, I mean there's nothin' in it. Like, empty."

"Scanner problem?"

"Nah, scanner's fine, considering the rig."

"That is strange. Does it look shielded, or like active countermeasures?"

"Not at all. I'm tellin' ya, it looks like air and a 50 bule lead plate."

She nodded, and gently took the scanner and box away from him, set it on the floor, motioned for him to sit. He started to protest, stopped, shrugged, sat.

"What is going on with you?" she asked.

"Oh, I dunno, didn't I say enough upstairs?"

"Yes, you spoke your usual amount of words, but it is obvious that this mission is bothering you more than normal."

"Shit," he said, collecting his thoughts. "I can't explain it, call 'animal instinct' or whatever, but I gotta real bad feeling here. There's somethin' that doesn't add up wit' this gig, an' I can't tell you what it is." He picked up the scanner and began reassembling it while watching Gamora. "You an' Quill better grow some eyes in the back a' yer heads, all I can tell ya. An' if they twig to Drax bein' your backup, then get the fuck outta there, like yesterday. I don't care how well hidden he thinks he is."

She put her hand on his shoulder, and he gasped in surprise, almost dropping the scanner. She had a serious expression.

"Thank you for being concerned. I admit, I have reservations about this drop, too." She pulled her hand back, looked down, then met Rocket's gaze again. "Just be sure you get the _Milano_ fixed so we aren't caught with our…our butts in the stars."

"'In the wind.'"

"There, either," she said, and worked her way back down the aisle and up the ladder. Rocket watched her go, then shook his head, put the extra piece of electronic gear in a pocket, grabbed Quill's scanner, and followed her out of the compartment.

* * *

><p><em>Milano <em>approached Hell's Shadow via a polar orbit for a landing in the upper latitudes. It was an area of perpetual twilight, given the inclination and orbit of the planet. There was a watery, gray light, ideal for concealment, that filled the barren landscape. The ground was a series of low, rolling hills with a surface of red and gray volcanic rock and sand. The landing site was about 150 meters from the exchange site.

Peter and Rocket flew the ship. They circled the exchange site, and Peter ejected the cargo pallet using the transport beam. Rocket circled back to the landing area, slewing _Milano _around in tight turn and flare for landing when warning lights lit up on the instrument panels.

"Engine failure engine failure engine failure." intoned the ship. Rocket suddenly had his hands full as the ship began to yaw and roll to the right, the ground tilting crazily beyond the canopy.

"Shit! Number five ate it! Get the struts down!" he shouted at Quill. "The thrust compensator is dead!" Normally, _Milano_ would adjust the thrust of the remaining engines to maintain controlled flight, but that feature wasn't working, so the extra power on the left wing threatened to flip the ship over on her back. Quill got the landing struts extended just as Rocket fought the ship onto the ground. There was a tremendous crash and the ship slid sideways in a spray of dust and sand. Rocket killed the engines. The main power went out, and the ship was filled with the yellow glow of the emergency lights.

"Yes!" shouted Drax. "That is your best one yet! We must do that again!" His booming laugh filled the flight deck.

"Everybody okay?" Quill asked, to a chorus of positive replies. "What happened?" he asked, looking angrily at Rocket.

"Number five died in the flare," Rocket said, just as annoyed. He banged away on the panel, and the main power came back on. Another screen lit up with the engine parameters. "Just flamed out. Weird. The compensator didn't kick in, dunno why…"

"Can you fix it?"

"Yeah, enough to get us out of here."

"Great. You get to work on that. We'll make the delivery and then get the hell outta here, " Quill said, getting out of his seat and stretching. Gamora and Drax were up, too, shaking off the effects of the rough landing. Groot had wrapped tendrils around the bulkhead where his pot was secured, and was unwinding himself from the ship.

"I am Groot." (Damn, dude, thought you could fly.)

"We can still use her," Rocket said over his shoulder to Groot. "Happy?" There was an old saw among 'ship drivers: any landing you walk away from is good, it's even better if you can use the 'ship again.

The team made their way down to the mid-deck. Quill, Gamora and Drax picked up their gear and weapons. The nose hatch irised open, and the three of them jumped down to the surface. Rocket stood in the hatchway.

"Quill," he said. Peter turned back to look, as Rocket put a finger to his eyes. "Keep your eyes open."

"Yeah," he said, walking away with Gamora. Drax had already disappeared into the landscape. Rocket shut the hatch. He clipped a comm lead to his ear, was gratified to hear Quill and Gamora's progress. He grabbed a case and bounded up the stairs. The canopy hissed open, and he jumped out onto the left wing. Time's a wastin', he thought, working his way over to the right rear wing.

* * *

><p>It took only a couple of minutes for Quill and Gamora to reach the cargo pallet. Quill followed Drax's progress on the readouts inside his helmet. He was amazed how the big man could disappear when he needed to. Drax was following them about twenty meters to their left, weaving in and out of the hilly terrain. The rendezvous area was in a hollow between two serpentine hills. Quill and Gamora exchanged looks, and moved to opposite ends of the pallet. Each carefully cleared their weapons.<p>

A single figure walked into the exchange area. It was covered in a gray camouflage suit, the face hidden behind a blank gray plate.

"Star-Lord. You have brought the cargo we desire."

"Yep we did, right here," Peter said, rapping his knuckles on the top of the can.

* * *

><p>The wing panel hinged open easily enough. Rocket look at his tablet, matching the schematics to the actual parts. Fuel lines, manifolds, magnetic harmonizer, engine controls…what the? He looked at the pad, then at the magnetic harmonizer again. That ain't on the plans, he thought, looking at an odd piece of hardware mounted in the wing. Cables ran from the device to the magnetic harmonizer and the engine control for number five. He got down on his hands and knees, looking closer at the mystery gear. Holy shit! He keyed the mic on his comm unit.<p>

"Quill! Get outta there! It's a set-up!"

* * *

><p>"Yes, you brought…that. But that is not what we desire."<p>

Quill heard Rocket shout his name in the comm, then a burst of static squealed in his ear. The mystery guest flung a silver disk at Gamora that seemed to sprout legs in midair. She effortlessly sidestepped it, cutting it half with her long blade. It hit the ground in a shower of sparks. Gamora's knife sang past Quill's nose, sinking into the camouflaged figure.

Another enemy burst from the ground behind Quill. He dropped and rolled, came up in a shooting crouch and blasted away. The new arrival dodged the shots and jumped on Quill. They fell to the ground, trading punches. Quill heard Drax's roar of battle delight, and his opponent was pulled away from him, impaled on Drax's blade. Drax flung the body away and waded into the melee around Gamora. Quill thought he heard _Milano_'s engines roar to life in the distance. Part of his mind wondered what was happening with Rocket, while the other part dealt with a new attacker.

* * *

><p>Rocket ripped the leads out of the foreign hardware, and muscled the component off of <em>Milano's<em> engine controls. He tossed the item toward the cockpit, so he could inspect it later. It skidded across the ship, fell through the open canopy and clanked onto the deck. He spun and slammed the wing panel closed with his foot. He heard a buzzing sound and flung himself flat on the wing as a blue bolt of energy flew over his head. Rocket rolled toward the center of the ship, counted to five, jumped up and scampered for the open canopy. He leaped in the air, somersaulted and dropped into the cockpit feet first. Something hit his left leg while he was in the air, knocking him onto the floor between the seats. He reached up, slapped the control panel and the canopy hissed closed. Rocket felt something crawling on his leg, then a fiery pain exploded in his left thigh.

"Ahhhooowww," he screamed, flopping over to look at the source of the pain. There was an eight-legged device about the size of his hand clamped onto his leg. The legs on the device sank through his jumpsuit and into the meat of his thigh. He grabbed the thing with both hands and yanked. He felt the fingers tightening into his muscle, then another burning stab from the center of the machine. His eyes crossed from the pain as he rolled across the flight deck floor towards Groot's pot, still secured at the back of the flight deck. The thing came free after another yank in a spray of blood, fabric and flesh. Rocket growled in agony, still fighting the device as the eight legs tried to grip his arms. Hands slippery with blood, he fought to control the spider and bash it into the floor.

Rocket felt another set of fingers working their way into his grasp. Groot extended a branch that forced its way into Rocket's hands, enclosing the spider. He pulled it away from Rocket, slamming it repeatedly into the deck until small metal parts began flying out of the knot of wood and the intruder was still. There was a snap as Groot separated the vines encasing the remains of the spider, leaving it imprisoned on the deck. Rocket scooted away from the thing on his back.

"I am _Groot_!" (What the _fuck_ is _that_?)

"Thanks, buddy," Rocket said, pressing a hand to his wounded leg. "Oh shit that hurts that hurts that hurts," he said through clenched teeth. He struggled to his feet, turned around to see a gray camouflaged figure standing on the ship outside the canopy, raising a weapon. He dove at the control panel and activated the "intrusion countermeasures" section. A blue spark erupted from the ship and the figure was thrown to the ground with a loud zap. Shots rattled off of _Milano_'s hull and canopy.

Rocket climbed into the pilot seat, thumbed the fast ignition on the thrust lever. _Milano_ responded beautifully, all the engines coming on line instantly. The ship exploded off of the ground with a roar as Rocket toggled the tactical displays. He saw eight enemy targets on the ground. He yawed the ship around, finger convulsing on the guns trigger. The three gun pods erupted, and the eight targets were gone in a messy spray of guts and sand.

Where's their transport? Rocket thought, switching displays. There, just lifting off! Gotcha now, bitches! Three missiles and another burst from the guns and the enemy ship trailed smoke, flew into the ground and exploded. Rocket turned _Milano_ back toward the exchange area, searching for his friends. He felt lightheaded as his leg continued to bleed. A cold, numb sensation was spreading from the center of the gashes on his thigh, and he could feel blood dripping off his toes.

Keep it together keep it together, he thought, fighting to stay focused on reaching Quill, Gamora and Drax. He could see a cloud of dust rising from the exchange area along with the flashes from energy weapons. _Milano_ covered the distance from the landing zone to the exchange area in seconds. The tactical display showed the three green outlines of his friends, crouching on one side of the cargo can. There were two red enemy signatures working on a flanking maneuver. Rocket ended them with a burst from the guns.

He slewed _Milano_ around, aiming her nose at his friends. He reached across to the right seat controls and engaged the transport beam to pick them up. It worked, he heard shouts and thumps from the cargo compartment. Satisfied that he could hear three voices, he punched up the orbital insertion flight path, gave the ship max throttle and engaged the autonav. He sat back for a moment, then struggled out of the chair, slipping and falling on the blood-slick deck. He got back to his feet, shuffled toward the gangway to the mid-deck.

"What the _fuck_ is going on?" Quill shouted, starting up the ladder to the flight deck.

He stopped when he saw Rocket at the top of the steps, blood soaking the lower part of his clothes and matting the fur on his left leg. Rocket took a step, reached out his hand, mouth open, panting. His eyes rolled back in his head and he toppled forward, falling head first down the ladder. Quill caught him before he hit the deck. He held Rocket's limp body, felt the warm blood on his hands, and looked around at Gamora and Drax.

"Oh shit," was all he could manage to say to their stunned expressions.

"I am Groot." The plaintive voice drifted down from the flight deck. (Rocket! Talk to me!)

**Author's note: This chapter took **_**forever**_** to work out. It became more of Rocket's story than originally planned, but I'm OK with that.**

**Hope you like it, now that the real rollercoaster ride has started. Comments welcome and appreciated!**


	5. Chapter 5 - Contagion

**Contagion**

The shock at seeing Rocket's condition only lasted a moment, and the three sprang into action. Drax cleared the common area table with a swipe of his arm, while Gamora ran the length of the deck and snatched the med kit from its mount by the beds. Quill lay Rocket on the table and kicked the light control up to full intensity. The harsh light revealed the extent of Rocket's wounds: a circle of eight ragged holes in his left thigh, oozing blood. Drax pulled out a knife and sliced Rocket's suit up the side of his leg, then peeled the wet fabric away from the wounds. He leaned close to inspect the wounds as Gamora set the med kit on that table.

"We've got to get this cleaned up," she said to Drax. "Give me your blade."

"Why?"

"Because I can't see what I'm doing," she replied, taking the blade from Drax. She spun the knife around on her palm, grabbed Rocket's leg and gently shaved the fur from around the wounds. Rocket's head rolled to the side, and his tongue slid out of his mouth onto the table. Gamora sighed; she'd seen enough injuries to last a lifetime.

"Hold on, Rocket, we've got you," she said, concentrating on her work.

"You guys okay? I'm gonna get us out of here," Peter said. Gamora nodded and Drax grunted. Peter bounded up the steps to the flight deck. The compartment was a mess: blood was smeared on the floor and droplets covered the seat and instrument panels. Damn, Quill thought, this is not good. Groot was clamoring from his pot, repeating "I am Groot" over and over.

(First he tried to fix the ship then these guys shot him with that thing and I had to tear it off his leg and he was bleeding a lot then he killed 'em all and shot down their ship then he came and got you and he fell down the stairs and can you please take me downstairs so I can see him please?)

"Easy, there," Quill said to the agitated tree. "Lemme get us outta here first." Quill sat in the left seat, ignoring the mess. He punched up a direct course for Xandar, then called up all of the defensive systems to be sure the _Milano_ was not being followed. Nothing appeared on the monitors, so he decided to piece together what happened.

"Ship, play back the flight deck monitor, rear camera, for the past twenty minutes." A projection opened in front of Quill, showing a fish-eye view from the rear of the flight deck. The team was just heading down the stairs.

"Forward times two." The image sped up, and Rocket came up the stairs and opened the canopy, hopped out onto the wing with his case.

"Forward times four." Nothing happened for thirty seconds, then a small device fell through the open canopy and slid to the front to the flight deck.

"Stop. Forward normal." Several energy bolts shot over the canopy. Rocket suddenly dropped into frame, but was knocked off balance in mid-air, dropping heavily to the deck. He closed the canopy, then started grabbing at something on his leg. He rolled out of frame towards the rear of the flight deck. He reappeared moments later, crawling backwards on his back, a blood stain growing on his leg. The blood ran onto the deck and his tail made a long red smear across the floor. Someone climbed onto the wing, aiming a weapon at Rocket.

"Forward times two." Quill watched as Rocket activated the ICM system, took off, killed the ground troops, shot down the enemy ship and made the pick-up.

"Stop, close." The image disappeared, and Quill shook his head in admiration. "You really are one tough little son-of-a-bitch." A whip-crack sound made him spin to face Groot, who had smacked a tendril on the deck. Groot was pointing at the ball of vines encasing the spider. Quill picked it up, then got down on his hands and knees. He saw the device that had dropped into the cockpit under a panel in front of the controls. What the hell? he thought, crawling up to the front of the compartment.

* * *

><p>"Give him one pack of blood surrogate, <em>heme<em> group," Gamora said to Drax as Peter climbed up to the flight deck. He pulled the pouch out of the med kit, tore it open and extracted a tube. Drax picked up Rocket's arm, dug his thumb into the inside of the elbow. A vein popped up, and Drax slid the needle from the pack home. A part of Drax was surprised at how fragile Rocket seemed; Drax's hand covered most of his upper arm. Rocket's color improved as the bag drained into his arm, going from a pale gray to pink.

"What's this?" Gamora said. The blade struck a thin, black spike at the center of the circle of gashes on Rocket's leg. Drax handed her a wad of gauze and a scanner. She pressed the gauze to the cuts, aimed the scanner at the spike. A field of data appeared above the device, "foreign object detected" spelled out above a wireframe outline of the leg. The spike was outlined in red, and it extended into the femur. Rocket's skeletal implants stood out in blue in the scan field.

"Hey, any idea what these are?" Quill asked, bounding down the ladder. He held the knot of vines encasing the remains of the spider and the device Rocket pulled from the wing. Drax pressed another layer of gauze onto Rocket's leg as Gamora took the vines from Quill, setting the scanner down. She turned the thing over, getting a better look at the encased object. She turned a paler shade of green.

"Yes," she said to Quill. "It's a _vatanvula_. A scorpion. It's an assassin weapon, used to introduce poisons or nanomechanisms into a target."

"Only a murderess would know of such things," Drax noted, and Gamora gave him a look.

"The question is, why use this on Rocket? And I'm certain this is what the buyer threw at me," she said. She handed Drax the vine ball, turned to the med kit and removed a pair of forceps. "That thing needs to come out of his leg."

She steadied Rocket's leg, leaned close and pulled on the spike with the forceps. It barely moved, almost like it was anchored to the bone. Gamora tried again, bending the spike in the forceps to get a better grip. A black substance came out of the spike and began working its way up the tips of the forceps. Gamora gasped in surprise and set the instrument on Rocket's leg. In one smooth move she kicked Drax in the chest, pushing him away from the table, and snatched one of Quill's blasters from its holster. She toggled the weapon to high intensity stun and shot Rocket in the leg before either man could recover. An eruption of blue sparks engulfed Rocket and the table.

"What the _fuck_!" shouted Quill as the sparks dissipated.

"Give me the word, Quill, and I will kill her now," Drax said, pointing his remaining blade across the table at Gamora. Rocket gasped for breath, and his limbs twitched from the effects of the shot.

"No! Rocket's infected with a nanomechanism! The energy discharge disables it!" Gamora shouted.

"Ya know, you could've said something about what you were doing just now," Quill said, anger creeping into his voice.

"No time. The nanomech was on the move and I had to stop it," Gamora said, handing the weapon back to Quill. "You could trust me not to harm anyone on our team, too."

"You better get busy, because I don't think he's breathing very well after that," Quill said.

Gamora pulled two injectors out of the med kit, stabbed them into Rocket's neck. His breathing became much less labored, and the twitching subsided. She picked up the forceps once again, and this time the spike slid out of his leg smoothly. Nothing else came out of the spike, but there was a black residue welded to the ends of the forceps. She set the spike and forceps on a piece of gauze.

"Put that someplace safe," she said to no one in particular as she reached for the tissue sealer and began closing the leg cuts. The sealer left a thin trail of fresh pink scar tissue in its wake. "This will stop the bleeding, but I think he'll need reconstructive work on the muscle when we get to Xandar. Those cuts are deep."

Quill picked up the spike and gauze, and he and Drax inspected the objects.

"We're going to have to figure out what it was," she added. She turned her back to Quill and Drax, continued to work on Rocket. Quill picked up the wing device, began climbing the stairs. Drax set the vines and forceps on the end of the table.

"I gotta make a couple of calls," he said. "Drax, bring Groot down here so he can keep Rocket company."

* * *

><p>"Quill! What'chu buggin' me for, boy? You run outta things ta save?"<p>

"It's always so good to hear your voice, Yondu."

"Don't git sentimental. Clock's tickin'."

"Nanomech. Who'd wanna put that shit on my crew?"

"Which ones?"

"Rocket and Gamora."

"Got implants and mods, both of 'em, right?"

"Yeah…"

"That's easy, boy. Harvesters."

"What?"

"Black market for all kinds of biotech. You know well's I do how much good mods're worth, 'specially proven ones. Nanos unhitch the mods, then ya jus' gotta pull 'em out an' sell 'em," Yondu said with a disturbing grin. "Why? You wanna make a deal or somethin'?"

"Not hardly. Thanks for the info…"

"Got somethin' I wanna show you real quick." The frame widened out, showing Yondu's pilot chair. At the very front of the line of figures was an orange-haired troll. "Lookie what I got just a few months back. Ya like it?" Yondu's smile was wide, but his eyes were stone cold.

"I do," Quill said in an even tone. "That orange hair really complements your complexion." He cut the connection before Yondu could reply.

* * *

><p>Rocket's wounds were closed and bandaged, and he was resting as comfortably as could be expected. Drax and Gamora managed to get him out of the bloody jumpsuit and cleaned the blood out of his fur. It's a good thing he's unconscious, Gamora thought, because he'd be mortified that we're touching him. And that we took his clothes away. They wrapped him in a sheet and carried him to the bunk across from Quill's. Drax went up to the flight deck and retrieved Groot, setting his pot at the head of the bunk. The sapling was relieved, and extended a branch that settled on his friend's head.<p>

The vine ball and forceps sat, forgotten for the moment, on the end of the table. A single drop of black fluid, no larger than the head of a pin, oozed out of the vine ball and dropped on the table. It began to move across the surface. Gamora and Drax did not see it as they got Rocket settled in on the bunk.

* * *

><p>"Denarian Dey's office." A pretty pink face filled the screen.<p>

"Yeah, it's Peter Quill. Hey, what's your name?"

"Beringga. And Denarian Dey has already warned me about you."

"Swell. Nothing he told you is true, except for the saving the galaxy part."

"If you say so, Mr. Quill."

"Wow. Yeah. Well, I need to talk to him right now."

"One moment."

The screen blanked for a few seconds, then Dey appeared.

"Star-Prince! You aren't due here for another week."

"You _know_ it's Star-Lord by now, right? You're just giving me a hard time."

"Sure. So, do I need to bail you out of some prison?"

"No, but I need some help."

"Not surprised. What happened?"

"Ah, cargo drop went sideways. Some bad people were waiting for us. It's weird, y'know, I think they wanted to steal…they wanted to steal Rocket and Gamora's body mods."

"Really," Dey said, leaning forward. "How do you figure that?"

"They attacked us with some kind of nanomech injector things. Gamora called it a _vatan_…something."

"_Vatanvula_," Dey said.

"How'd you know?"

"It's not the first time I've heard of this kind of activity. We've broken up several harvester rings. Were either of them infected with nanomechanisms?"

"Rocket got hit with that _vatan_-thing, but Gamora zapped him with a stun weapon and pulled out the probe. Said the electrical shock would disable the nanomech."

"It'll get most of them, but if even one is still active, then Rocket is in danger. What's your location?"

Quill punched up the nav screen, then sent the data to Dey.

"There's more. Someone put this thing on my ship, too." He held up the box that Rocket pulled from the wing. "I'm betting that happened at the Hub."

"The Hub? I thought you said you weren't doing anything illegal."

"That's where we picked up the cargo," Quill said. Dey nodded.

"I'm going to talk to Nova Prime and have a ship tasked to your position. We need be certain that Rocket and everyone else is decontaminated. Continue on your present course and I'll contact you in a few hours."

"Wait a sec. What do these nano things do exactly?"

"Implants and mods are genetically coded to the owner for optimal biocompatibility and functionality. The nanomech erases that code, which means the implant can be put in another host. But it also means that the owner's body can no longer use the implant, and will start to reject it."

"Oh," Quill said in a small voice.

"I'll be in touch," Dey said, and signed off. Quill leaned back in his seat, watching the _Milano_ and trying to put the pieces of this puzzle together in his mind.

* * *

><p>Gamora and Drax sat on Quill's bunk, looking across at Rocket. He was lying on his back, head propped up, sleeping. The sheet covering Rocket reflected a single overhead light, illuminating the bunk area in a soft light.<p>

"I apologize for kicking you earlier," Gamora began.

"I understand that you had to prevent the devices from spreading."

"Yes. I'm not used to explaining myself to anyone, certainly not in the middle of the action."

"No. That is not the way of a warrior. You will become better at it as time goes on."

"Do you think so? I'm not so sure."

"Our team is young. We are still learning each other's ways."

"I'll work on it."

Rocket groaned and rolled on his side, facing Gamora and Drax. His eyes opened, focused.

"I feel terrible."

"Good. I'd hate for you to look this bad and feel good," Gamora said, leaning forward.

Rocket sighed, lacked the energy to make a retort.

"I want my pants back."

"Your clothes are a mess, so that will have to wait."

"Everybody okay?"

"Yes. You did good."

"Thanks. I'd hate ta think I got my ass kicked again for no reason."

"Of course. As a reward for your hard work, Drax will tell you a bedtime story."

"I will do no such thing," Drax said with an air of indignation. "He is not my daughter."

"I am Groot." (I wanna hear it.)

"Just lemme sleep some more," Rocket said. Gamora stood, leaned over and ran a hand over his head, stopping on his shoulder. He looked at her for a moment, nodded, then rolled over to face the wall, breaking the contact. The sheet slipped down, and the implants on his back gleamed in the light. Gamora covered him again. She straightened up, and Groot poked her with a branch.

"I am Groot." (Thanks for taking care of him.) She trailed her hand along the branch in reply as she walked back toward the common area.

Drax watched with a certain fascination as Gamora started cleaning up the table. She worked with a sparse economy of movement, one action flowing into the next without any break in rhythm. She set the forceps and vine ball in a stasis container and activated the field. She took the bloody gauze and other trash and put in it the flash incinerator in the galley, activated the unit. She rolled up Rocket's jump suit and sealed it in a plastic bag. She sprayed the bloody end of the table with a cleaner and began to wipe it down. She reached the end of the table when the vine and forceps had rested and suddenly stopped and stared at her right hand, turning it over and back.

"Is something wrong?"

"I don't think so."

Drax turned back to Rocket as Gamora finished cleaning the table.

"Uh…do you _want_ to hear a story?"

"Yeah, sure, why not?" Rocket said, stifling a yawn.

Drax leaned forward, shot a glance down the compartment. Gamora was standing, facing the galley, leaning on the unit with both hands, head down. He cleared his throat.

"In the first times, there was a great warrior…" Drax began, hoping she wouldn't hear him. Rocket sighed, trying to focus on the parts of his body that didn't hurt. He drifted off to sleep to the quiet drone of Drax's story.

Gamora leaned on the galley, trying to get the images of blood and pain from the day out of her mind. She noticed Rocket's flask sitting on the counter. She cocked an eyebrow at the flask, picked it up, opened it, sniffed. She took a sizable gulp from the flask, let the harsh fluid burn down her throat. She capped the flask, stretched, sat down at the end of the table and put her head on her arms. Drax's voice drifted over her. She smiled, realizing that he was telling Rocket a story after all. She closed her eyes. Her breathing evened out, and she slept.

A tiny drop of black fluid emerged from the skin of the middle finger of her right hand. It elongated into a thread and disappeared back into the skin of her finger. She did not stir.

"…and that is how she became queen of the galaxy," Drax concluded. Rocket was snoring softly. He looked down the deck at Gamora and realized he was the only one awake on the mid-deck. He stared out the window at the stars for a long moment, then wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Sleep well, Kamaria."

He lay back on Quill's bunk, and soon he was asleep, too.


	6. Chapter 6 - Dream Catchers

**Dream Catchers**

His lips pulled back from his teeth and a growl escaped his throat as the straps were tightened across his chest, arms and legs.

"89P13. Always a pleasure to see you," said a masked and gowned figure. Bright lights shined in Rocket's eyes.

"My name is Rocket!"

"Of course it is. 89P13, the augmentation implants in your left leg has ceased functioning properly."

"So what?"

"This part of the experiment has failed. There is only one course of action left to us. I know you will understand what we must do. A surgical intervention is our only choice."

"Lemme go you fucking freak!"

"Freak? There's only one freak here, 89P13, and you know who you are. We are not going to waste valuable medications on you any longer."

Cold fear gripped Rocket as the mechanic picked up what looked like Gamora's short blade and leaned over him.

"You aren't even gonna knock me out?"

"I'm going to remove your left leg now." Rocket saw a glimpse of purple skin behind the mechanic's face guard just before the knife sliced across his hip. He screamed in agony, but the voice that came out of his mouth was Gamora's. The last thing Rocket saw was his blood spraying across the mechanic's gown.

* * *

><p>Gentle fingers caressed her neck, roved over the back of her head, moved down to her shoulders. She stirred awake, stretched her arms out in front of her, put her forehead on the table.<p>

"Quill, if that's you, I'll give you an hour to stop."

The fingers moved back to her neck, past her ear, encircled her throat, squeezed gently.

"Um, that's a little weird, Quill."

The hand tightened its grip. Her eyes flew open and she grabbed the fingers that now were closing off her windpipe.

"Did you really think that I would forget about you, daughter?"

A deep fear gripped Gamora. The hand around her neck turned her body to face the disembodied head, shoulder and arm of Thanos that filled the compartment. His hand was wrapped tightly around her neck, and he picked her up out of the chair like a rag doll, hanging her in mid-air.

A scream died in her throat, unable to escape. Thanos turned her body toward the bunk area. There was a mass of blue flesh and blood on Quill's bunk and a red-soaked sheet where Rocket was sleeping earlier.

"I have taken care of your companions," Thanos rumbled, turning her back toward the front of the ship. A red waterfall dripped down from the flight deck, congealing into long strings on the lower steps of the ladder.

"We must spend some time together, daughter. You look hungry. Perhaps you should eat." The hand forced her to look at the table. A bloody, gray-furred leg was displayed on an ornate platter, flayed open and crawling with tiny, ten-legged mechanical bugs. Metallic implants shined on the exposed bone.

The platter faded out of existence, and the hand around her neck forced her onto her knees at the edge of the table. Her right arm was wrenched forward, forced palm-up on the table. Her shoulder dislocated with a wet pop, and a ragged, stifled scream managed to escape her lips. She watched as the skin on her hand and forearm opened, exposing the underlying muscles and tendons. The muscles parted, neatly opened up, moved aside into a fan shape on the table, and the net of nerves and blood vessels moved to either side on top of the dissected muscles, a macabre anatomy demonstration, revealing her bones. Her radius and ulna split open and a swarm of tiny mechanical bugs crawled out of the bone marrow.

"Do you see? You will _always_ belong to me," Thanos said. The hand slammed her back against the curve of the compartment wall, and she felt her neck snap. Her arms and legs went limp as the hand tightened its grip on her neck, crushing her throat. Her vision retreated to a pinpoint in a sea of gray wool, then dissolved to black.

"I will claim what is mine," Thanos intoned from a far distance. It was the last thing Gamora heard before her life ended.

* * *

><p>"Hey hey hey hey, wake up, it's okay, come back." Gamora had heard plenty of talk about an afterlife, which she did not believe in anyway, but she was certain that if it did exist it would not sound like Peter Quill. Hands were gently shaking her shoulders.<p>

She opened her eyes, knocked the hands off her body and pounced forward at the owner. She ended up kneeling on Quill's chest, her knees pinned his arms to the floor of the galley of the _Milano_. Her hands gripped his head, thumbs millimeters from his eyes. A feral grin contorted her features.

"Stop!" Quill yelled. Gamora knelt on his chest for another moment, then dropped his head on the deck and backed away, sitting beside him. "Why do you always wake up swinging?" he asked, catching his breath.

"Do not grab me when I'm sleeping and that won't happen," she said, slotting back into the reality of the _Milano _and realizing that the encounter with Thanos was only a dream.

"Sleeping? Right. Sitting on the deck all huddled up and screaming is not what I'd call sleeping," Quill said. "Bad dream?" Drax and Rocket were standing by the galley table, watching, and Rocket leaned on a chair for support. He had wrapped himself in the sheet, and looked something like a furry Terran bride.

"Yes. It was. It was very bad," she said, suddenly self-conscious. She stood up and straightened her clothes, tried to recover some dignity. Quill sat on the deck, looking at her for a moment, then he got up and moved into her line of sight.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Gamora, come on, this isn't like you to get the screaming meemies," Quill said.

"Quill, I just don't…fine," she sighed. "I dreamed that Thanos was here, on the ship. He killed all of you, then he said he'd come back to claim me, that I'm still his 'daughter'. It seemed like the nanomech was his message to me. He killed me, too, and that's when I woke up."

"Nanomech? What're ya talkin' about?" Rocket asked.

"That thing on your leg? It's called a _vatanvula_, used to inject nanomechs. I did some checking, and I think someone was after your implants and biotech," Quill replied. "Harvesters, they're called."

"Yeah, I heard about that kinda thing. You zap me or anything to stop 'em?" Rocket asked.

"I did," Gamora answered. "High intensity electrical stun."

"That should get most of 'em. Really need an EMP or a counter-mech to be sure," Rocket said. "I figure I got a couple of days before we'll really see the effects."

"How do you know about this stuff?" Quill asked.

"C'mon, man, ya don't carry around all this hardware an' genetic shit like I do without eventually meeting some jerk who wants to take it."

"Are you worried about the effects?" Drax asked.

Rocket glanced at him, shook his head.

"What good would it do me to be worried now? It's done. We'll deal with it."

"Can nanomech send a message?" Gamora asked Rocket.

"A message? What, like your dream? Dunno. A memory implant's a lot easier, if you wanna try that kinda thing, but it's real unstable. Guess the mech could be used to alter neural paths, but that's a really super-hard and roundabout way to do it," Rocket replied. "I'd bet on your subconscious before I'd bet on a message."

Gamora nodded, but wasn't reassured.

"So, a Nova Corps hospital ship will rendezvous with us in three hours. We'll get Rocket scanned and cleaned out and fixed up, figure out if any permanent damage was done," Quill said, and started up the ladder.

"I think I was exposed to the nanomech, too," Gamora said. Quill stopped, looked back.

"Why you say that?" he asked.

"A feeling. Can't hurt to get checked, right?"

* * *

><p>The team sat around a conference table on the <em>Nova Rigel<em>. Groot was in his pot next to Rocket at the end of the table. Quill and Drax were on one side of the table, Gamora sat across from them, and Dr. Alcazar Ghael anchored the end opposite Rocket. She was older than Quill by a few years, and her demeanor was a mixture of serious and weary. A scan of the interior of the _Milano_ hung above the table.

"We neutralized the nanomechs on the _Milano_. There appears to be no damage to the ship itself, the mechs we recovered were designed for biological interventions," Ghael began.

"I take it that's the good news," Quill said.

"Yes," replied Ghael. She changed the image to a physical readout of Gamora's right arm.

"Gamora, we were able to neutralize the nanomechs in your arm. There is some damage to your regeneration implants, but we should be able to correct that once we design a repair nanomech. Until then, your regen abilities will be reduced, particularly in that arm. The mechs in your arm appeared to be designed for a different host," she said, glancing at Rocket. Gamora nodded once as she stared at the images.

The images changed again and revealed the results of Rocket's treatment. Rocket sat in stoic silence, reading the scans, showing no emotion at the intimate details of his anatomy and physiology on full view.

"Rocket. The tissue repair to your leg muscles was simple. It'll be sore for a few days. We neutralized the nanomechanisms and filtered them out of your blood, but the damage is done," said Ghael. "These nanomechs were very sophisticated. Normally, in cases like this, they just 'disconnect' the implants from the host's genome, allowing for extraction and re-implantation in another host, but in Rocket's case, the interface between his body and the implants was reconfigured."

"So put it back the way it was," Rocket said.

"That's the problem, Rocket," Ghael said. "We can't."

"Why? You've got all this top-flight stuff on this ship…" he began.

"Yes, but we don't have the map to fix you. Your genome was extensively modified, to the point that it is singularly unique, and the same is true of your cybernetic augmentations. We can't 'put it back', as you say, because we don't know what the correct state is. The interface reconfiguration effected by the nanomechanisms has erased any map that we could use to de-engineer the damage. You need to go back to the source of all of your modifications and get your original data. Then we could probably construct a series of nanomech interventions to undo the changes. We can control any physical rejection issues between your body and your implants for a few weeks, but the implants no longer function as designed and your body will reject them in time. The rejection will lead to increasing incapacitation and death."

"What're you saying?" Rocket asked, he voice going up a notch.

"You have to go back to Halfworld," Ghael said, looking up at one of the scans. "The ones who modified you could apply a fix, or you can bring your data to Xandar and we can develop a repair strategy."

"I am Groot." (Holy shit.)

They all looked at Rocket. He swallowed hard, looked at the group with defiance, and hopped out his chair. He walked slowly toward the door, stopped, turned to face them.

"There hasta be another way," he said. "I. Am. Not. Going. Back. There." Rocket jabbed a finger at the floor for emphasis with each word. He kicked the door open and disappeared into the corridor.

"So that's it, then?" Quill asked.

"Yes," sighed Ghael. "I understand how important Rocket is to you, and to Xandar, for that matter. There are just limits to what we can do."

"I'll go talk to him," Gamora said as she stood up. She picked up Groot's pot and left the room.

* * *

><p>"Rocket, let me in," Gamora said as she stood at the door to his cabin on the <em>Nova Rigel<em>. She ignored the discreet stares from the passing crew. She realized she must make quite a sight: an assassin holding a pot with a sentient tree trying to get into a cabin occupied by an augmented raccoon with a bad attitude.

"Fuck off."

"I am Groot." (C'mon, dude, don't be that way.)

The door opened a crack, and Gamora pushed her way inside. The lights were dim, and Rocket climbed back onto his bunk, sat on the edge, watched Gamora. She set Groot down by a small desk.

"Here's the deal," Rocket said, pointing at her. "I wanna get drunk one last time with you all and then I want you to help me pull the plug." He looked away, in the general direction of Groot.

"You can't be serious."

"I'm _dead_ serious," Rocket said as he looked back and met her gaze. His eyes glistened in the half-light.

"I believe you are stronger than this. What are you afraid of?"

"What am I afraid of? Yer joking, right?" Rocket jumped off the bunk, pulled his shirt off and turned his back to Gamora. He pointed with both hands over his shoulders at the exposed implants on his back. "That's what I'm afraid of!" He waited a moment, then turned back to Gamora. He shook out his shirt and put it on again.

"Rocket, I…" Gamora began, trying to find the right words.

"What? Look, I'm not goin' back. I barely got outta that hellhole the first time. Whaddya think we're gonna do, walk right in there and say 'hey, boys, gimme the docs on your illegal cyber-augmented genetic experiment so we can fix it'? Ha! Just let me end it with some dignity and not begging the mechanics to fix me!" Rocket's voice rose steadily, to a near shout. His chest heaved, and a tear ran down from each eye. "Fuck!" he said, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

"I understand why you're afraid. And you and I _are_ in the same boat. I _remember_ what Thanos did to me, all of it. I don't want to go back _there_ but I will if I have to because the life I have now is more precious to me than anything. I have friends and a purpose and I will fight to keep that until I can no longer fight. But I will _not_ give up without trying."

"I am Groot." (Listen to her, Rocket.)

"I had a dream, too, when you woke up screaming," he said as he climbed back onto the bunk, sat on the edge and stared at the floor. He wrapped his tail tightly around his leg.

"What? Why didn't you say anything earlier?"

"Because I've always had dreams like that, 'bout the mechanics an' what they did to me."

"So this one was different?"

"Kinda." Rocket stared at his feet. "The mechanics never talk in my dreams. They just come and…do things. But this time the guy talked to me, told me that part of the experiment failed. Then he cut off my left leg with that blade," he said, pointing at Gamora's leg sheath. "Then you woke us all up screaming. It might've been Thanos, but I never got a good look at him."

Gamora sat up straighter.

"Thanos showed me your leg on platter in my dream."

Rocket shook his head.

"What're ya saying? That our dreams are linked? That's a pretty far stretch."

"No, but it feels like there's more going on here than just harvesters looking for biotech."

"Maybe so, but I still got a problem with no solution here."

"Rocket, there is a solution. We'll go to Halfworld, get whatever information we need, and get you repaired."

He glanced up for a moment, then looked back at his feet dangling above the floor.

"But what if they can't fix me with all of this great gear they got here?" he asked in a small voice.

She crossed the room and sat on the bunk. He looked up at her, then turned away, suddenly more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him. She saw his real fear, dragged out and exposed. She reached over, put her finger on his muzzle and gently turned his head to face her. He shifted his eyes up to look at her at last.

"Then we will have tried and failed. But we will not have given up without trying. You're not alone, and you know that."

He sighed and she let him turn away. She sat on the bunk, waiting him out.

"Fine," he said softly. "Lemme sleep on it. Maybe I'll dream up a plan."

"Good." She stood up and quietly left the room.

* * *

><p>The comm unit buzzed next to Gamora's bunk. She shook herself awake, hit the answer bar on the console. Rocket's face filled the screen.<p>

"What is it?" she asked, trying to focus.

"I have a plan."

"Great. Can it wait a few hours?"

"Sure. G'night. Oh, hey, wake Quill up and tell him, will ya?" he said, as he tried to look past her into her cabin.

"_What?_"

He gave her a leer and terminated the connection. She looked over her shoulder, then back at the blank screen.

"Okay, you little smartass."

**Author's Note: Sorry this chapter took a while to get out. The twin forces of work and life conspired against me these past few days. Thanks for being patient. I'm still mulling over the ending of this chapter, so it **_**might**_** change, but I'm not sure. Comments and reviews are welcome. Thanks to everyone who commented so far and favorited this story. I appreciate it!**


	7. Chapter 7 - Plans and Misdemeanors

**Plans and Misdemeanors**

"That is not a plan," Quill said with a smirk.

"Been waitin' ta say that a while, have ya?" Rocket shot back.

"Yep."

Rocket snorted and shook his head, blowing Quill off for the moment. It was morning, and the team was back in the conference room on the _Nova Rigel_. Gamora and Quill seemed to make a point of sitting at opposite ends of the table, which made Rocket smile inwardly. Drax was across from Rocket, and Groot sat on the table next to Rocket. Holo-charts hung above the table, showing the most basic information about Halfworld. The planet was located in an area of the galaxy called the Keystone Quadrant, and was fourth out from a yellow-and-blue binary star system.

"There is nothing there," Drax observed, as he tried to understand how something as complex as Rocket could come from somewhere so remote.

"Nope, edge of the 'verse," Rocket replied.

"Look, there isn't enough info here to go on. You're gonna have to give me something more," Quill said. "You escaped there, right? So what kind of defenses do they got? How're we gonna get in and out?"

"Look, I told ya, we come in on a modified equatorial approach, sneak on in, an' head for the complex. Piece a cake. We'll work out the _minutiae_ on the way," Rocket said with a sneer.

"Nope. We need a better plan," Quill said with an air of finality.

"What? That's more detail than any of your stupid schemes," Rocket said, voice rising.

"Gentlemen, stop it now," Gamora said, smacking her hand on the table for emphasis. "Rocket, we need more details about this planet. It's your home world, so why won't you tell us more?"

"Because I can't remember the deets, dammit! I wanted to forget it, all the cutting, an' torture, an' fear, don'tcha understand? I got a partial memory wipe after I got out, but it didn't take, just scrambled my memories instead. So I remember all the work they did to me, but it's all mixed up. Until yesterday, I had no plans to ever go back there!"

"D'ya think that might be something you'd maybe wanna tell us?" Quill asked, surprised. There was a tense silence.

"You must be honest with us if you expect us to take risks for you," Drax said.

"I am Groot." (Come clean, man.)

Rocket stared at the group, unsure what to say, or even where to begin. He was afraid, actually having to take the time to face his mortality in a clinical fashion, as opposed to going out in a blaze of glory. He hated being afraid, and saw fear as weakness. He wanted to be defiant, wanted to be helped, wanted to be left alone. He realized that no one would be here if they didn't want to help him, and that he would just have to trust that, being his friends, they would understand. He picked up a stylus, and twirled it nervously in one hand.

"Look," Rocket said quietly. "I wanted to try an' forget the worst things that they did to me. Y'know, like that thing they do to soldiers when they can't deal after a bad tour? Took the edge off, so I could sleep at night, mostly, an' not flip out at things all the time. Understand?" He glanced at Gamora, who nodded, and at Drax, who returned his look.

"What was done to you?" Drax asked.

Rocket fixed him with a level gaze.

"Everything," he replied. "Everything. Look, Halfworld's surrounded by an energy shield, they called it the Wall, the Galacian Wall. It's weakest at the poles, an' that's where I think we can slip in."

"And?" Quill asked, in gentler tone.

"An' there's a key, a code, that'll open a hole in it, which I don't know."

"Why is this place called 'Halfworld?'" Drax asked. He couldn't get the picture of half a sphere out of his head.

"Coz only half of it's livable. Some kinda, I dunno, environmental or industrial disaster or somethin'. Anyway, half the planet is dead, like toxic dead. The place where I'm from is on the good half, middle of the main continent."

"Is it a city, a base…?" Gamora leaned forward.

"It's a small city, a research complex," Rocket sighed. "That's all I got. I can't remember how I got out. The memory wipe worked on that part."

"Well," Quill said. "Shouldn't be any big deal at all. Go to a system we know next to nothing about, bust in through a planetary shield, and sneak up on a base. No problemo."

"Yeah, that covers it," Rocket replied.

"Sorry if I'm not too enthusiastic about this."

"Look, Quill, I got an idea."

"Uh huh."

"We gotta get through the Wall and into that base, right?"

"Yeah…"

"So, sell me."

"_What_?" Quill, Drax and Gamora all said, drowning out a surprised "I am Groot."

"No, I'm totally serious," Rocket said quietly as he glanced over at Groot. He set the stylus down, looked at each of the team in turn. "'Member that Collector dude? Well, there's only one of me, right? That's gotta be worth somethin'. Make a trade for the key, he can have me when I kick, just like he wanted to do with Groot. Hell, he can put me an' Groot in the same case. Or we can trade whatever Halfworld tech we find to him if he gets us the entry key to the Wall."

"Rocket, I'm not selling you to anyone. It doesn't work like that," Quill said.

"Why not?"

"You are not a commodity to be bartered," Drax answered.

"C'mon," Rocket replied. "We don't even know if there's a fix for what happened to me, like I might not, y'know, make it." He swallowed, continued. "So if selling me and my tech gets us the key, fast, then I can deal."

"What about the Nova Corps?" Gamora asked. "Maybe they know about Halfworld."

"What _about_ the Nova Corps? If they knew about it, they'd'a said somethin'. You heard Ghael, they don't know shit about anything about what I am or where I'm from." Rocket leaned forward, put his elbows on the table and ran his hands back over his face to his ears, stretching his eyes and fur. He held his ears in his hands for a beat, then shook his head. "Look, guys, I dunno what else to do. What we don't have is time." He paused, looked up at the holo-charts, then down at the table. "I'm scared about this, an' I need your help, an' I think we gotta take some chances. Any better ideas, now's the time." He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

The five of them stared at each other for a moment.

"Quill, you've always said negotiating is your specialty," Gamora said. "Now is your chance to show us what you've got."

"Alright," Quill said, shaking his head. "I'll give it a shot, see if Tivan'll take a call. Rocket, you talk to the engineering people on this boat and see if you can cook up a better stealth package for the _Milano_. Drax, you help him. Gamora, you get the _Milano_'s weapons systems and our gear all dialed in. Think we'll need it all. That's it, let's get busy."

The team stood up and shuffled out the door. Rocket picked up Groot and was the last to leave. The Halfworld displays continued to hang in the empty room.

* * *

><p>"And what is it, Mister Quill, that you have to offer me?"<p>

"Biotechnology from Halfworld. Apparently, they have a knack for genetic engineering and cybernetics."

"Yes, all of which is of dubious legality."

"That may be the case, but certainly a collection such as yours, seeing how it's being rebuilt as we speak, could use samples of unique technologies, if not for display, then for sale to interested parties."

"I see."

"Furthermore, the creation of such technology may be in a legal gray area, but the possession of it is perfectly legal. I have a living example of it on my crew at this very moment."

"Ah, yes, I recall that. Your pet, no?"

"No, and I wouldn't say that to his face if I were you."

"Charming. I'm certain you're aware, Mister Quill, that Halfworld has no contact with the galaxy proper? So I must ask why you think I could possibly be able to find the means to breach the planetary defenses of such an isolated world?"

"I'm certain that someone who's been in the business as long as you have has many lines of information at his disposal for situations like this."

"Indeed," Tivan said, his smile a mixture of ice and oil. "Indeed, but such information usually comes at a high price."

"Indeed it does. So, do we have a deal?"

"Yes. If I am successful in procuring what you ask, you will give me one sample of viable biotechnology from Halfworld. Allow me to sweeten the deal. I will pay you one hundred thousand units for each piece of genetic or cybernetic technology beyond the first. I will pay you one hundred million units for a _living_ example of such technology."

Tivan's meaning was clear. Quill fought to keep his poker face in place.

"I'll think on that extension of the initial offer. For now, let's stick to the basic deal."

"Of course, Mister Quill. Finally, let me just say that if I'm willing to pay well for such specimens, then others are willing to do so, too. Some will not be troubled by the need for payment. You must be careful."

"I'll keep that in mind," Quill said, and ended the transmission. The conversation with Tivan made him feel soiled, in need of a hot bath. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. He was worried that he'd signed a contract with something evil, and that he'd missed some critical loophole that would find Rocket dead or encased in glass.

"Shit," he said, and left the comm room on the _Nova Rigel_.

* * *

><p>Gamora caught up with Quill in the corridor.<p>

"What happened?"

"Well, he went for it. I'm just worried that Rocket's gonna end up in a cage when this is all done."

"That will not happen, I promise you. I will kill Tivan myself before I allow him to imprison Rocket."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that. You find anything out about that box that Rocket found in the wing?"

"Yes. It's a programmable control module optimized for use on the powerplant systems for a Shark-class M-ship. Easy to install and coded to cause us to crash by disabling various engine systems on landing. We're lucky Rocket was flying when it activated on Hell's Shadow."

"Great. Any other surprises?"

"No. Rocket and I did a complete sweep of the _Milano_ and all of its control systems. She's clean. I'm heading back to the hangar deck to see how Rocket is doing with the stealth package."

Quill nodded, and Gamora turned and walked away down the corridor.

"Hey!" Quill called after her. "Is there something going on with you two?"

Gamora stopped and spun around to face Quill.

"What did you say?" She walked back towards him, eyes burning.

"I mean, I just wondered, if you were, y'know, interested in him…"

"Peter Quill! Just because I care about Rocket, and can have an intimate conversation with him, does not mean we are involved in some kind of romantic dalliance!" She started to undo the fastener on her right sleeve.

"Okay, hey, I was just asking…"

Gamora yanked the sleeve up to her elbow and held her arm up to Quill's face, palm forward, fingers spread. He could see the delicate, dark tracery of her mods running under her skin.

"He is like a brother to me. We are from the same mold," she said with finality. She held her arm up for a few beats, watching Quill's dawning comprehension. She dropped her arm, letting her sleeve fall down. "Do you understand?"

She turned on her heel and stalked off, the gunshot cracks of her boot heels echoing in the corridor.

* * *

><p>The hangar deck of the <em>Nova Rigel <em>was small to begin with, and _Milano_ took up a lot of that space. Rocket and Drax worked on a countermeasures pod mounted under _Milano_'s left wing. Rocket climbed on the pod while Drax passed him tools from a lift under the wing. The _Rigel_'s engineering and armaments staff provided a basic CM system, and Rocket was adapting it to _Milano_'s shields and systems. Drax thought it was strange that a hospital ship would have such a thing, until Rocket pointed out that they didn't always make pickups in friendly territory.

The programming for the pod was finished and Rocket had to make one more connection to the _Milano_'s power grid. Rocket was already feeling the effects of the anti-rejection meds that Ghael had started him on earlier in the day. He was stiff and tired and his hands hurt, but he was going to tough it out and get the pod done so he could find some quiet spot on the _Milano_ and sleep, like maybe for a week.

"Drive that thing around here so I can get this last power line locked in," he said to Drax from the top of the pod. He couldn't see Drax, but the lift began to roll around the pod to his position. Rocket leaned forward and rested his head on the pod's support pylon while Drax maneuvered. Groot watched from his pot inside the open flight deck canopy.

Drax saw Rocket lean on the pylon. He knew that Rocket was focused on the CM pod because it kept his mind off of his physical condition and the looming trip to Halfworld. However, Rocket worked slower and slower as time went on, and was too tired to argue with Drax as he usually did about whether Drax had passed him the right tool or part. He could tell that Rocket was in increasing discomfort since he kept shaking his hands after every step in the procedure.

"Are you well?" Drax asked, raising the lift basket next to Rocket.

"Everything hurts," Rocket answered quietly. He jumped off the pylon and into the lift. "Let's take five."

"Five what?"

"Minutes of break," Rocket replied, sitting down on the floor of the lift. He rubbed his left thigh for a few moments, then worked on his forearms. Drax watched, concerned.

"I thought your wounds were healed."

"The meat is, sure, but the bone implants hurt coz of the nano damage and meds."

"How do your bone implants function?"

Rocket was surprised at Drax's question, since no one had ever asked him about his mods and he certainly had never felt the need to discuss it, either. A distant memory bubbled to the surface in his mind. His eyes went blank, and…

…_he sits in front of the screens displaying the fundamentals of astronavigation. The instructor-mechanic is otherwise occupied on the other side of the room, so he opens a small window in the displays. The hack works this time: "Subject 89P13 Construction Summary" spools down the window. He memorizes the words instantly, now recalls the section on "Musculoskeletal System Enhancements"._

"_The skeletal implants increase physical stability via enhanced proprioceptive feedback from micro-accelerometers placed on three axes in the long bones and joints. Coupled with the augmented cerebellum and enhanced musculature, the modified skeletal system allows for a marked increase in balance, movement and fine motor work. In addition, the implants improve structural integrity against skeletal fracture via enmeshing the compact bone matrix with the implant alloy." _

_The instructor-mechanic is turning back in his direction. The record window closes just in time and…_

…Rocket shook his head, trying to hide a surprised expression. "Shit," he said, "Where'd that come from?"

Drax stared at Rocket. It didn't sound anything like him, even when he talking about something technical.

"Is your head alright?" he asked Rocket, a concerned expression crossing his face.

"Yeah, fine, no problem," Rocket replied, rubbing his eyes. "Just some aftereffect of all this shit that's gone down. C'mon, let's finish this thing." Rocket grabbed the basket railing and hauled himself to his feet.

"What is left to complete?"

"Hook up the secondary power line an' were done with this bitch," Rocket sighed. "Get us up under the pylon, that's where the line is." Drax moved the basket a few feet, and Rocket climbed up on the railing and opened a panel in the pylon. He hummed tunelessly while he worked on the power system, prepping and testing the cables.

"Awright, here we go. Gimme that connector there. Nah, the other one." Drax passed him a cable adapter and the attachment tool. Rocket grunted with the effort of installing the connector, and swore at the cables. "C'mon, ya fuckin' piece a shit."

Drax reached around Rocket and tightened the connector for him. Rocket spun around, surprised, ready to attack, but Drax ignored him.

"We are finished now, yes?" Drax asked.

"Yeah, we're done," Rocket nodded.

"Let us go inside and rest now." Drax closed the panel and stepped back from the pylon.

Rocket sat down on the deck of the lift, spent, as Drax moved the lift away from the _Milano_. Rocket looked up at him, trying to decide what to say and how to say it. Less is more, he thought.

"Thanks."

"Do not mention it. I am here to help you, after all.

* * *

><p>Gamora and Rocket sat together on the flight deck of the<em> Milano<em>. It was another long shift change: Rocket seemed preoccupied, and Gamora was waiting him out, as usual. The comm panel chirped and broke up the waiting game.

"What is it?" Gamora asked.

"No sender. Some kind of audio file, bet it's from Tivan," Rocket replied. He tapped on the screen and a grating sound of static and musical tones filled the flight deck for a few seconds.

"What the hell was that?" Gamora said.

_He stares at the security grid readout. Seconds count by. _

"_C'mon, c'mon" he says, urging the search to go faster._

_There is banging at the door. He finds his quarry in the file structure at last: the key to the Wall._

"_The key to the Galacian Wall planetary shield is a shifting series of random tones based on the product of forty-one prime numbers, each with fifty-seven digits, overlaid with white noise."_

_A hissing sound is coming from the door, and an orange circle appears as the metal starts to bubble and run. He dives back into the air duct as…_

"Rocket! Come back!" Gamora stood over him, hands on his shoulders. The flight deck came back into focus. He self-consciously looked away, wiped a drool string from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Get offa me, jeez…" he began, pushing her hands away.

"What happened to you? You had some sort of trance."

"It's nothin'."

"Don't tell me that. Drax said something similar happened to you while you were working on the _Milano _yesterday."

"C'mon, leave me alone. 'S fine."

"I won't, you stubborn little bastard. What's going on?"

"I am Groot," Groot said from his spot at the back of the flight deck. (What is it with you and not trusting anyone?)

He stared back at her defiantly, then sighed as his resolve wilted.

"It was like I was back there for a second, when I was escaped. I broke into the security system an' got the key file."

"What about your memory wipe? I thought you couldn't remember any of those details?"

Rocket looked away, then back at her. She could see the fear in his eyes, and how he fought to hide it.

"It's all coming back," he said in a whisper.

**OK, back on track after a busy few weeks. Kinda got stuck on the scene with Rocket and Drax, then got real busy with work, then the scene all of a sudden worked itself out. Story note...I'm at that point where there are three choices regarding Halfworld: follow the Marvel Cinematic Universe, follow an original idea, follow a bit o' both. This story takes place in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and, since I don't want to wait til 2017 to see what, if anything, happens with Halfworld, I'm going with my own idea for this story that's anchored in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. The Marvel Comic Universe addresses Rocket's return to Halfworld, if you're interested, in "Rocket Raccoon and Groot: Root & Branch, Tooth & Claw." I am not rehashing or referencing that storyline _AT ALL._**

**As always, I don't own the characters or places or things and am not profiting off of this in any way.**

**Thanks for staying with the story! Comments and feedback are welcome and appreciated.**


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